Cold War Christmas
by ArbitraryMelodist
Summary: A little (sort-of) songfic for everyone's favorite superpower nations. Based in the late 1970s or early 1980s. RusAme if you squint reaaally hard? T for language. Happy holidays!


**Is it too early to post Christmas stuff yet?... Ah, I do not care~ I got this idea from Weird Al's "Christmas at Ground Zero", so. Here goes nothing. ****Human names used. And a few words in Russian (though they should be a given). **

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><p>Every year around Christmas, as he passed hordes of people carrying bags upon bags of future presents up and down the crowded streets of New York City, Alfred F. Jones (who was the totally awesome, heroic personification of the United States), became paranoid. Not just any paranoia, it was raving and mind-consuming in all aspects. As it was, the young nation was stuck in a stalemate of sorts: his ally-turned-rival was beginning to grow too powerful for Alfred's comfort. Just thinking about the tall, frightfully pale Russian sent him into a furious, fearful fit.<p>

_ What if he tries to bomb me on Christmas? Seems like something the stupid big-nosed Commie would do. Just as we all start opening our presents and being all happy, BAM! Right when we least expect it! 'Merry Christmas! Happy birthday, baby Jesus!' BAM! America, right off the map!_

Alfred was very frightened of the scenario that continually ran through his mind as he walked, though he'd never admit it to himself, and especially not to his aforementioned enemy.

Said Russian was becoming more of a jerkwad by the day. Lately, he'd started talking to other eastern European countries in an attempt to befriend them. Just when they least expected it, Ivan swooped in and installed a Communist government all up in there. He was nearly unstoppable, and what's more, he had the power to wipe out America with the push of a button. N-not like America couldn't do the same to him, of course! Alfred was always proud to say he had more nukes than his Soviet counterpart, though no one was ever sure of who had more nukes.

As if it had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, Alfred slammed face-first into a window. He had become lost in another of his paranoia fits, and hadn't been paying any attention to where he was going. He felt embarrassed, but soon forgot the entire incident as he continued his walk down the street, humming a little holiday tune in an attempt to distract himself.

Meanwhile, in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, a certain violet-eyed Russkie was performing a parallel practice, though his mind was notably clearer than Alfred's. Ivan Braginsky, the personified Soviet Russia, walked with his hands in the pockets of his long, black trench coat, thankful that he had his white scarf to help keep him warm during the brutal months of winter. His mind flicked back to the upcoming world meeting he would be attending in Germany in a few weeks, the so-called "Christmas" meeting. Ivan and a few of the other Soviet nations did not even celebrate Christmas; their boss had declared them to be solely Atheist, though his family and their people still carried out the traditions of the Russian Orthodox church and the winter celebrations on New Year's Day.

Though he would definitely keep the thought to himself, Ivan wondered if Alfred was inconsiderate enough to possibly attack him during one of his only holidays, or even on his birthday just before. It certainly seemed like something the blue-eyed blonde would do, and then he would declare himself 'the hero' once more. Oh, how it irritated Ivan to think of the rather obnoxious American, attempting to spread capitalism, attempting to rid the world of his beloved Communism! But, of course, _everyone _would be one with Russia someday...

Ivan entered a small shop on one of the busier streets, ducking inside not only to warm up and get out of the snow, but also to find potential gifts for his two sisters, Yekaterina and Nataliya. Perhaps this year he would be extra generous and purchase gifts for Toris, Eduard, and Raivis as well? As he quietly perused the selection of small items, his eyes fell upon something rather interesting.

A small silver-plated pocketwatch. It wasn't quite plain, and yet it wasn't quite over-the-top, either. It was in surprisingly good condition for how old it appeared to be, quietly ticking away every second as it was made to do. Upon further inspection, Ivan found that it was a product of Switzerland's handiwork. After much mental debate, Ivan exited the store with a watch in his pocket, taking the place of more than a few rubles.

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><p>As usual, the world meeting drug on for much longer than originally anticipated. A certain Frenchman and Englishman were at each other's necks as custom dictated, and of course Alfred was being obnoxious as usual. Ivan desperately wished that the watch in his pocket could tick quicker, but to his misfortune, no amount of chanting death threats under his breath could coerce time into flowing faster. It was Christmas Eve, so the other nations were already becoming as antsy as he was.<p>

Even before he had become a nonbeliever, Ivan had celebrated his winter holiday on 7 January rather than 25 December, so performing this exchange of sorts on western "Christmas Eve" was really just out of courtesy. He had already asked Alfred to stay for a moment after everyone else left, and the American agreed, though his apprehension to do so was quite obvious.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity plus half of another, the meeting ended. After waiting for most of the other nations to leave, including his subordinates, Ivan slowly approached his American rival and placed a hand on the shorter man's shoulder.

"Amerika?"

The aforementioned blonde nearly jumped out of his skin. Turning to face Ivan, he resisted the urge to slap the older man. "Dude, don't do that. What is it?"

The Russian reached into his pocket and gently gripped the pocketwatch. "I have something for you, _da_?" He pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened it, revealing the silver timepiece that looked rather small in his large hand.

America hesitantly plucked the object from Ivan's hand. Inspecting it, he found no sign of explosives or any other method of attempted assassination. "Why?"

Ivan smirked. "Maybe now you will be able to keep track of how long you have been ranting, and you will stop wasting my time, _da_?"

This elicited a grin from the younger nation. "You're an ass." After punching the Russian on the shoulder (and not gently, either), he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a flask. Tossing it to Ivan, he said, "Here ya go, Commie."

The flask in his gloved hand was almost perfect. It was chrome in color, with an engraving of a sunflower on the side as well as on the cap. Ivan silently nodded as he looked over the empty object, eyeing his own reflection on its shiny face. "_Spasibo_, comrade."

"Yeah, yeah, keep your Commie gibberish to yourself." There was a small chuckle following, and after a few words of parting, the two rivals turned and headed towards opposite exits. But as he made his way to the west exit, Alfred felt like he was still being watched. It was always around the Russian that his paranoia acted up the strongest. _Did he turn around? Is he watching me? Am I in danger? Should I turn around?_

Ivan spun on his heel, pulling a steel pipe out of seemingly nowhere and brandishing it toward the American, who had just pulled out a weapon as well. A burst of adrenaline surged through the two nations, and yet the deep violets and baby blues simply stared at each other. Ivan's grip on the shiny metal tightened as Alfred popped his thumb against the butt of his pistol.

"Fascinating," the taller one noted.

"Mm-hmm."

Alfred took a step backwards towards the exit; he was only about three feet from the door. Ivan made a similar move of retreat, and this put his back to his eastern entryway.

"Your nose is big."

"You reek of corruption and diabetes."

"Neither of those have a smell, idiot."

The tall Slavic nation said nothing, only pursing his lips slightly as his eyelids lowered a bit. "I do believe this is goodbye," he said softly, pressing his back to the metal bar on the door. Without taking his eyes from Alfred, without releasing his grip on the pipe even a little, the older nation slipped out and was safe behind the reinforced iron door.

"Stupid Commie," Alfred muttered, sliding his pistol back into its holster. Squeezing the handle of his briefcase, he finally made it through the door. Two things he knew for certain: one, the only reason he could not get along with Ivan was because they were bent on doing the same thing, which was to annoy the other by boasting of new achievements or pointing out the other's faults; two, next year, he was totally wearing a bulletproof vest under his shirt at the meeting, because anything was bound to happen during a Cold War Christmas.


End file.
